"Yes"--a dull red flush crept over the minister's face--"and--and whatever
she says, Rachel, why, you are not to mind, child."
"She ain't a-goin' to sass me," declared Rachel stoutly.
"Well, I don't believe she will again; let us hope not," said Mr.
Henderson, in a worried way. "However, you are not to cry; remember that,
Rachel, whatever happens," he added firmly: "you are to be happy here; this
is your home, and we all love you."
"You do?" said Rachel, much amazed, looking at them all. "Oh, well, then,
I'll stay." And slipping down from her chair, she seized Mrs. Henderson's
apron. "What'll I do? Mrs. Fisher told me how to wash dishes. May I do
'em?"
"Yes, and the boys shall wipe them," said Mrs. Henderson, and pretty soon
there was a gay little bustle in the old kitchen, the parson staying away
from the writing of the sermon to see it.
But Peletiah and Ezekiel were much too slow to suit Rachel, who got far
ahead of them, so she flew to the drawer in the big table where she had
seen them get the dish-towels, and, helping herself, she fell to work
drying some of the big pile in the drainer in the sink.
"I don't see how you can go so fast," observed Peletiah, laboriously
polishing up his plate.
"Well, I don't see how you can go so slow," retorted Rachel, with deft
passes of the towel over the cup. "My! I sh'd think your elbows had gone to
sleep.
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